


Partner, Brother and Friend

by Elenhin



Category: The Avengers
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenhin/pseuds/Elenhin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and the man who is her Partner, brother and friend. On what he has given her, what he has made her, and what she is  to him in turn. </p>
<p>Hurt comfort one shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partner, Brother and Friend

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the thoughts in my head. My Hawkeye is standing on my desk, and his head wobbles if you poke him. 

Summary: This is Natasha on the man who made her, the man who gave her what she has now. It's about what her partner has given her. 

 

Partner, Brother and Friend

Chapter 1 

Natasha stretched out her arm, flexing her fingers to keep the circulation going. She could not afford to lose her readiness to fight. It was one of the first things she had been taught, even outstretched on the bed she had to be ready. It did not matter where you were, if you thought you were safe. An enemy could enter at any second and then you had to be ready to take them down. To hesitate was to die.

The only thing more important than your survival was the success of the mission. Your life was only worth as much as they allowed it to. At any point they could decide that you had outlived your usefulness and then it was over. 

She was no longer theirs to command and control, no longer their weapon but the lessons she had learned under them still held true. She never allowed herself to be too weak, she was always ready to fight. Even now she was ready, even though her arm was weighed down she was ready because she had to be. 

The red room would never have allowed this, they would have called it a weakness and it was. It was a weakness that could make her hesitate, but it was also her strength. It was a man beside her on the bed, stretched out under the covers and with his head pillowed on her arm. Light spilled in through the window in the door, only just enough to see by. Enough to defend against an attack but not enough for anything else really. Light brown hair lay soft against her cheek, her red locks spilling over to mix with his shorter hair. Not much taller than her, if more muscular and stockier he fit perfectly against her side. 

A weakness she luxuriated in, not because she was weak but because it was him. 

They had told her, drilled into her, that love was for children. There was nothing in this world worth loving, and she had believed it when they said it. It was the truth, there was no use thinking anything else. Love was not for her and she did not care, and then there was him. 

Eyes that could be warm and welcoming, hard and unforgiving. Laughing and crying if he trusted you enough to let you see. A warm smile and a gentle touch. 

She would never indulge in love, and yet she loved him. He was an idiot who knew the dangers as well as she did, and yet he paid no heed to them. He loved, like a child he loved. Like a child he smiled at her and trusted her, and did not care when she told him he was a fool. Did not turn back when she cursed at him and said she would only betray him. He did not trust easily, but he loved. 

Trust had been taken from him long ago, he had been broken too many times to give trust, just like her. The red room had no room for it, they created a weapon and that was what she was. The Black Widow, deadly. No one could cross her and hope to survive. No one dared to stand against her, except him. 

He knew what she was, and yet he could smile. He knew what she had done, and yet he reached out to her. 

She lashed out and he stood firm, smiling softly and offering his hand. She hurt him out of fear and he spread his arms out to her. 

She had fought against it with every fiber of her being. She had not wanted to fall for that siren call, but in the end she had given in. He had been sent to kill her, Hawkeye, the best they had. He was good, perhaps good enough to take her, perhaps not.They would never know as he had not even tried to carry it through. He would kill when he had to, and he slept peacefully because he never killed for sport. He was not like her, he had not been trained like her. He had been raised in a hard and cold world. Full of unforgiving fists and harsh words. 

He had not known love then. 

He grew up unwanted and unappreciated. With no one to care for him or sooth him when he cried. He grew up to betrayals and cruelty and he never knew much kindness. 

In that they were very much alike. She knew how it felt to be alone, to know that no one cared. If you failed the next test they would leave you to starve, or punish you by hard blows or sharp steel. He knew the price of failure but not the kindness of a loving touch. 

He had been lost, just like her, scared like a beaten puppy who feared every hand close to it. He shied back and hid himself in the shadows where no one would remember he was there. He protected himself because he did not believe anyone else would, and yet he had allowed her close. He had lowered his guard, for her, so that she could find comfort in his closeness. 

He smiled and laughed and teased, and only smiled again when she lashed out. She had done that, lashed out so many times from fear. Fear of being touched, fear of being trapped and fear that he was actually right. She had struck him with her hand, and stood with her back to the wall and a knife to his throat. He waited for her, just waited for her to trust. 

She had lashed out so violently that she drew blood and left bruises on his skin that did not fade for a week. He stood firm, but he never held it against her. He understood her fear and offered his support until finally she realized she could trust him. He understood how hard it was for her to trust. 

Natasha had thought he was an idiot for displaying that kind of trust in her. For believing that she would not kill him. She thought about it so many times, when she was not sure if she had done the right thing or not. 

Trust was something that she had never been able to afford. She had felt so sure it was a weakness, and then she saw him sleep. She knew it had been a rough mission he had been on. He was exhausted, bruised and limping. He was worn out, and she could tell. She figured everyone else would be able to tell as well, that he was weak. He knew it too, for he did not sleep. He sat with his back against the wall, slouching in the chair, but he did not sleep. He was like her she realized, more like her than she had given him credit for. He would not sleep when he had to be vigilant. She had not been sure if he really had what it took in him, but he did. He did not allow himself to relax until Coulson entered the room. She knew that he knew, his eyes were closed but he knew the second Coulson entered and he relaxed. His body lost all the tension and he relaxed fully. Even with her close by he had that level of trust in Coulson, and in her, and it just got to her. 

It got to her because it was something she wanted. She wanted to be able to do that, to relax that much and know that it would be okay and you would really be safe. She had always been told that could never happen. Yet Clint was promising her that, and for the first time she believed that he could deliver. So she left herself open, and he watched her back. He did not make her regret it, he was good to his word, and he trusted her enough to sleep next to her. 

They lied in the red room, they lied to you so you would never want what they said you could not have. They lied to her but she was not buying into their lies anymore. She had something better now. She had thought he was stupid and weak, but he was not. He was strong, probably the strongest man she would ever meet. Strong enough to have faith in someone else, and to trust the ones who earned his trust. He allowed himself to need others and she was starting to think that was a sign of true strenght. Clint trusted Coulson, and he trusted Fury. He trusted her even before he really knew her. The first time she saw it she thought it was a weakness, later she wanted it and now she had it. 

Coulson said he had a big heart, Fury shook his head and said he was an idiot who would get it ripped out. Natasha had come to know his soul and scorn had given way to love. There was so much of him to love and appreciate. How he always looked to her needs, how he trusted her to hold her own in a fight, but would still lend her his jacket if he thought she was cold. 

No one had ever given her what he did, such closeness and trust. Unconditional love and respect, and he gave it every day. 

It was why she was here now, on the bed beside him, his head pillowed on her arm and the soft light spilling over his features. Pale and drawn, the nasal cannula catching the light as it supplied him with the oxygen he could not properly take in on his own. His body under the covers limp besides her. His hand cold and clammy in hers and not the faintest flutters of eyelashes as time slowly dragged on. His face unmarked this time, not bruised at all but so pale against the pillow. A needle in the back of his hand covered by a bandage, and a plastic strip around his wrist. 

She ran her thumb over the knuckles of his hand, his skin was cool to her touch but all she could do was wrap her fingers around his to warm them. They had placed his hands above the cover, because of the IV-line and because of the clip that measured his pulse on one finger. 

They did not want her to lie beside him as she did, said he would not even know. She could not leave him though, she could not let him be there alone in the cold dimly lit room. Maybe he knew, and maybe he did not, but he would have been there for her, she knew it. He was always there for her, and she would not leave him now. 

She came back to this from her own mission, to her best friend like this and she refused to leave. The doctors had told her to prepare for the worst, because they said the signs were bad. They had never earned her trust though, not like Clint had. She would trust him, not them. She would trust him to get better, to wake up and be okay. 

She would trust him to come back to her, because he was her friend, her heart and her soul, and he was all she had. 

He would get better, because she needed him to, and he would never deny her. 

He would open his eyes because he had to, and she would be there when he did. 

The End

Thank you for reading, please leave a comment, the Cricket is hungry....


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